Today is my oldest son's birthday. He left eleven years ago, and today he is forty years old. 

    I miss him, his smile, his sense of humour, his spontaneity. He was a wonderful human being; kind, loving, empathic. He, like I, have ADHD that is off the charts. When we were growing up together, and yes, I have always phrased it that way because we did grow up together. I was a young mom; had three under three by the time I was twenty-four. 

    In our family my youngest has Autism, and I suspect my husband does as well. My daughter and her son have ADHD. And then there were Adam and myself. When the kids were teens it was extremely tense in the house. My husband and son had difficulty understanding Adam, his lack of being able to read other people and realize the joke was leaving a mark.

    My husband became a changed man. When three children, one of whom he found challenging, were going through puberty it became an overwhelming situation. I tried to run interference between my husband and son, translating each other's coded script to each of them. Sometimes it worked, most of the time it didn't. 

    I became an emotional wreck worrying about all of us and if we were going to survive the chaos, anger, resentment and fatigue. I never in a million years thought this would be our family. Both my spouse and myself grew up in families that did not care about our well-being or having positive parental figures that unconditionally loved us, that supported us, or even talked to us. Gen X: The invisible Generation. 

    Growing up for us was so different. We went out at sunup and returned at night. No one cared where we were or worried about our safety. We grew up as feral beings learning how to survive the world. We got into fights we had to resolve ourselves. We arrived home to an empty house. We fed ourselves, if there was food as in my husband's case. No one helped us with homework, or life in general. There was no such thing as feelings. We did not have any. Our only job was to be quiet or be gone. We had living rooms we were not allowed to be in, we had no say in any decision, including ones that impacted us. We were told and expected to accept it without emotion. I remember in my house the only feeling I was allowed was happiness; no anger, no sadness, no grief, no sorrow. I had to have that smile plastered on my face every single day regardless of what was happening under our roof. 

    When my husband and I were first married we both were emphatic our children's lives would be different. We would listen to them. We would talk about their emotions and teach them how to regulate them. We would love them unconditionally and let them know regardless of their mistakes, that did not become their identity. We had dinners together as a family and talked about our day. Sundays were a special day. We celebrated and ate, talked and laughed. We were open and honest with our children when they had questions about anything. They knew we would keep them safe in any situation. And we showed them with real-world issues. 

    It all changed in their teens. The two oldest made bad, life changing decisions. Adam started hanging around peers that did not have the same values as we did. His best friend was an alcoholic at fourteen, and lived with an absentee, alcoholic parent. Overnight, those were his guides, not us. We lost him bit-by-bit until he stopped coming home. Then he was living with drug dealers. He never turned to drugs for which I am grateful, but alcohol became his demon. 

    He still came home once in a while. He got married to a wonderful, but troubled girl, who experienced a horrific childhood. Her demons became too great for Adam to deal with and they divorced. In the meantime, he started coming home for Sunday dinners again. He found solid employment, and he seemed together. A few years later he married again. She was different from his first wife. She controlled every aspect of his being, including if he could see his family. At the same time, I was recovering from two ruptured brain aneurysm's and she did not have tolerance for my needs. I always knew she was jealous of the relationship Adam and I shared. In the beginning of their relationship there were issues with him visiting his sister. I walked on eggshells around her because I knew if it were a choice, I would lose, even though he loved me so much, it hurt. Adam had always been a follower. I think that's what led to his downfall at thirteen. 

    My health became my priority. It had to be. Brain surgery is a big deal. It left a lot of damage, not only to me physically, but to my relationship with Adam and his wife. We were still speaking and texting until that day when he called and screamed at me that he did not care. He had never raised his voice to me, and I was devastated. That was the last communication we had. He changed his phone number. I do not know where he lives, if he is still married, if he has children. If he is happy...if he thinks of me.

    Adam, today you are forty. This is a milestone birthday because forty is when you start thinking differently. You become more introspective and take an inventory of your life; what you have created, who you've become, and what you want your legacy to become. Life is a series of choices and each one has a different path, a different outcome, and a different story. Our story was cut off too short. I have so many regrets, and things I wish I had done differntly. But I know the outcome would still be the same. You are in my heart. You are an Adam-shaped piece missing in my soul. I will always love you as much as I always have. Things will never be the same, and yet I still have hope. Because that is life. 

The New Face of PTSD

I read an interesting article the other day on Medium about PTSD. The writer opined that PTSD has changed from the war torn soldier facing demons from what they encountered during operational duties to one that affects many people in day to day lives, and how this change causes people to react differently to someone who has PTSD from abuse, a serious medical injury, severe emotional bullying from parents or witnessing horrific acts, or being made to particiapte in horrific acts, from someone who has PTSD from being in the military or a police officer.

Interesting as I was just talking to my husband about this very topic last week. The typical spin on PTSD, or, as it is called in the military and RCMP, an OSI...Operational Stress Injury, kind of confirms this line of thinking; PTSD from an operational perspective is somehow more damaging psychologically than PTSD from being beaten and raped as a child, being traumatized by another adult or facing a life altering event.

After studying trauma for the past thirty years, and extensively for the past three years, I can tell you, trauma is trauma, no matter what you call it or how you dress it up, or under what circumstances it was conceived in.

The reactions are the same: sever anxiety, depression, grief, drug and alcohol abuse to numb the pain, hyper vigilance, hyper startle reflex, insomnia, nightmares, night terrors, anger, uncontrollable rage. Then there are the physiological responses: ulcers, severe acid reflux, digestive problems, internal organ damage from the onslaught of cortisol coursing through the body, vagus nerve damage, headaches, nausea, migraines, tinnitus, vomiting, heart palpitations, angina, internal bleeding, brain aneurysms, muscle and nerve damage, fibromyalgia, and much more.

What you do not hear about is how many women commit suicide because of horrific abuse suffered by the hands of their parents during childhood. Or, how many people have severe PTSD after being beaten and abused, emotionally or mentally from their partners. Sexual crimes against women are still being debated as to whether it is consensual or not, regardless of the emotional damage.

Coaches, Priests, and Boy Scout Leaders that systematically traumatized boys in their care, either verbally, physically or sexually, are not outed until the victim comes forward. And then, typically, the victim has to fight the stigma of being a male that was raped. And then he gets the added benefit of PTSD.

We have to start making the connection that any type of assault on people, verbal, sexual, or physical creates long lasting, damaging consequences. Bullying of any form on anyone, whether in the workplace, schools, homes, universities or the hockey arena creates damage that is not easily repaired.

We need to understand the depth of violence we create and are responsible for, with our actions. And most of all, we need to support and help the people that are injured. We need to listen. We need to sincerely apologize, and we need to acknowledge their pain.

Far too long we have been silent or silenced because it makes others uncomfortable. That is unacceptable.

If you suffer from trauma, speak out, get help, talk to someone you trust. There are numerous resources available in Canada and the US either through your work, in the mental heath community or through the medical community. Reach out. Say something, say anything. You matter.

If you cannot speak out, write it out. Take twenty minute and write or draw, anything. Let the feelings and the emotions pour out. You do not have to be grammatically correct, or an artist to release the demons. Draw and write whatever spews forth, and then burn it. The very act of pouring out your thoughts rather than stuffing them down, and then burning away those thoughts can bring about a feeling of catharsis. And maybe, one day, you will be strong enough to seek help. Do this for yourself. Do this for the people that love you.

Sometimes, we are harder on ourselves than we are on others. We believe we are at fault, we deserve the crappy life we are wallowing in, because somehow we said or did the wrong thing, we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, we dressed inappropriately, we said something that upset the balance, and nothing could be further from the truth. We keep ourselves locked up from guilt and shame, because it is easier to believe we had control over the event and that somehow we can prevent it from happening again, if we dress correctly, not speak up or out, if we follow the rules, if we tried harder, if we remain silent. This is reinforced by others who fear the same thing can happen to them, so well-meaning friends and relatives will tell you, if you hadn’t been walking alone at night, you would not have been assaulted; if you had not been drunk, you would have been safe; if you were not alone with the coach or priest, you would not have been molested; if you had not made your partner angry, you would have not been beaten.

I’ve had trauma survivors tell me that their children have disclosed abuse, and the children are lying because they are seeking attention. These adults are so damaged, that they cannot see what is happening in front of them and choose to believe their child is at fault, and consequently, they are at fault as well for their own abuse.

Years ago a small town in Alberta had a disproportionate number of rapes. The solution? Do not allow women to walk outside after 8:00 PM. Instead of locking up the men, they locked up the women.

This magical thinking serves two purposes: it keeps people scared so they do not repeat what you did and they believe that keeps them safe, and it reinforces the lesson that you are at fault.

Change is difficult, and the people in our lives will be uncomfortable with changes we make to keep ourselves healthy. Be prepared to lose friends and family. But, also look forward to having some control over your life. Accept that you deserve peace, stability and love. People who love you, will support you. There is hope.

Canadian Resources: 
Kids Help Phone 1-800-668-6868
Crisis Services Canada: 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645
Native Youth Crisis Line: 1-877-209-1266
Centre for Suicide Prevention: 1-833-456-4566
American Resources:
Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/mental-health-resources/

#mentalhealthmatters

Grief is a Spiral

Learned something valuable today, which I should have guessed at because of my education, but still managed to catch me off guard. After being estranged from my son for 14 months, I ended up back in the same city where, three years ago we had an amazing talk about his life moving forward, my past, our lives growing up together. I was a young mom and I am still waiting to grow up, so I think of my time as a parent of young children as growing up with them. It was a blast! We had tons of fun and I remember making up stories about them, where we had great adventures and saw magical things; the fabulously, crazy birthday cakes and parties and running with them chasing soccer balls. I loved having kids and being with them. The innocent times were care free.

Now, back in the same city, I broke down and sobbed for all that I lost. I have told my husband that this rift between us feels to me like he has died. Two months ago on the anninversary of this tsunami that tore through my life, I did a ritual to let it go or let me deal with it so I wasn't such a mess. It worked. I felt lighter than I had all year and I could rationalize the pain and the anger.

Being here broke that illusion. I remebered being with him again and all the great times we had together. He is very silimar to me in personality, music tastes, bad sense of humour and the the dark things we find funny. Losing him in this way makes no sense to me, emotionally or psychologically. And the damn broke. 

After dealing with the fallout of a horrific, soul crushing childhood, I learned that dealing with grief and anger was a spiral. You deal, you grieve, you get angry, you get depressed, you coast and you start all over again.

This has been the same way. And, Ironically, the course I was on was dealing with critical incident stress. So I learned this is normal, this will change and this will ebb and flow as I go on. I knew that from my psych nursing days, from all the self help books and from my own couselling days, yet this still hit me like a bomb blast. 

I guess this is what makes people resilient. And what makes life hard to endure and painful. One day I shall move past this. One day the cuts to my heart will heal. I know that. It is how I choose to journey there that will make the difference.

Peace. 

Abandoned

Another new year has begun for me. Halloween always strikes me as New Year's Eve, November 1 as a day of remembering your ancestors and November 2 as the start of a New Year. Makes much more sense to me than December 31.

This year has been difficult, mentally, physically and emotionally. I do not want a repeat.

I lost my child. No, not to death, not to miscarriage, not to drugs. He is still alive and very healthy and probably very happy, but he is gone. He was married to a wonderful girl about five years ago. Her family had issues (who's doesn't), but unfortunately her issues took over my son's life, soul and spirt.

My son is kind, compassionate, caring, and also ADD to the nth degree, which can make him selfish, self-centred and not able to think about the further consequences of action. Sometimes I think he is more 15 than 30.  I can say these things because I am the same way. Growing up, my middle child and I were identical. We loved the same music, we laughed at the same jokes, we told the same stories and we were happy. Except for when we were down. Then that took over our lives.

At work, however, he is conscientious, resourceful, bright, funny, inventive and gifted. Actually, I think he is extremely gifted. He could be an outstanding artist if he chose to work at it, or an outstanding tattooist. He has many talents.

But like some people with ADD, he is also extremely stubborn, strong willed and listens more to friends than family. He's been like that since he was 13. His friends had more of an influence and power over him than my husband or I ever did.

As a teen, we tried to keep him centered, but as with most people with a mental illness, he chose to self medicate and act out. Got into trouble, acted out more, got into more trouble. It was a horrible time for us as a family as we had a special needs child, and another teenager. At one point I lost my job and was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and a mild form of MS. Life was crazy. 

He did get his life together. He is very successful in his career, is responsible and, I believe, happy. Unfortunately, he chose to blame all his bad decisions as an adult on me. When I got the phone call, I was in shock. My son and I had a great relationship growing up, so this was so out of left field for me. I still do not know how or why he chose to say the things he did, but it's been a year and I feel like my child has died. I grieved for months.

I cried myself to sleep for more nights than I care to remember. and I questioned everything I did as a parent, a mother, a wife. When I found out he moved back to the province and then practically across the street from us, it crushed me. Completely. I still have no contact with him, do not know his phone number or his address. And I still think about him every single day.

My husband and I had horrible childhoods; torture, rape, abuse, starvation, psychopathic parents, and we both swore if we ever had children we would not do to them what was done to us. We would listen, we would ask questions, we would talk and discuss, and love. And we foolishly thought this would make a difference. A teacher once told us, having kids is a crapshoot. You never know what you are going to get. And he was correct.

My husband and I still talk to our parents. And then, when I thought we did all the right things, we are abandoned.

All I can do is try to move on. And not let this tear me apart.


ABANDONED: Bif Naked

Well you packed me away in the trunk of your car.
You drove me so fast and so far.
I tried to fight but its so hard.
The only momento is this scar.

Where were you when i needed you?
Somethings missing, and I can't breathe.
Where were you? Where were you?
Somethings missing.
You abandoned me.

Oh when you look deep into my mind.
That is so tired and weak from this life.
On the verge of fear all the time.
I feel like you left me here to die.

Shaking in my boots, you shook me down.
You really took me down.
Shaking my foundation, not to be found.
Never to be found.

Where were you? Where were you?
You abandoned me.
You abandoned me.
You abandoned me.

The Shortness of Life

Twice in one year I have been confronted with the death of a friend and once, the death of family member. Before that, the death of a close friend, and the death of a spouse of a close friend. All five deaths were not precipitated by anything. One minute they were here, and the next, gone.

All their deaths left an impact and left me wondering the why behind it. At this stage of my life I should be used to it but it still unnearves me beyond belief at the fargility of life. No one gets to plan their demise unless you are dealing with chronic illness or disease. But I am still astounded at the weakness of the human being. 

I remember when I was a kid: Summers lasted forever, we took all kinds of stupid risks and survived, and we all grew up feeling invicible. Now, I am overly cautious. I admit, I love life. And, when I can, I play life to the fullest of my being. Most days, it's not that much, but I still want to see my grand children grow up. I still need to own more dogs. I still want more years with my spouse. I still have to live on the ocean. And I still want to use up my retirement savings. 

Death laughs at all of these simple plans and just like "Dead Like Me", lightening could strike me tomorrow. Like it did my friend Kat, and Michele, Donna, Wanda, and Olof. 

I know I should be used to this.....

Fear..Love..Loss

Today is a happy day for me. You would not guess that from the title, but it is. Have come to the understanding (finally) that all souls are not meant to travel with you throughout your life, whether you need them to or not, whether they are family or not, whether you gave birth to them or not. After grieving for months, I am okay with this. For today. Tomorrow is a crapshoot. But it always is.

I always thought, naively, that if you were family, you would stay together, you would love each other, and if you treated each other with respect, things would always come through in the end. I was wrong.

My husband and I raised our children with love and respect, valued their opinions, protected them, loved them beyond belief, and, I thought, created some strong familial values. Then, with peer pressure, strangers became more important. And nothing we said, nothing we did made any sense. We fell into a rabbit hole and we were at a loss. For years we tried everything in our power to undo the damage that society was doing, to no avail.

As a Dutch women with a strong sense of loyalty to family, and needing tight family connections, this was truly devastating. The one thing I yearned for, beyond all else, when I came to this foreign country, was the intimate connection with family that The Netherlands has and Canada has not.

So I fought, and begged, and conjoled, and cried, and gave in, and walked on egg shells, and sold myself, and finally fought back. The battle is lost, but the war may not be over. Or it might.

Then I thought about souls and the way we connect. Maybe there is a bigger reason for this. Maybe there is a lesson in this that I have not stumbled upon...yet. One day I shall wake up and I shall know why this happened and the why it played out the way it did. Until then, I can only ponder the wisdom of the universe and move on without hanging on.

I still check up, but do not expect anything different. And for now, this gives me some solace in a mad world.

I still love madly, deeply, and forever, because blood bounds are sacred to me. If it isn't the same for the other person, I need to understand and send them on their way and hope for the best for them, as well as myself. But I no longer will sell pieces of myself to get love back. Not at this stage of my life. And not after coming so close to dying.

So I wonder. And I contemplate. And I smile, because once, I had the greatest love of all for a brief, fleeting moment, when we truly were one person, with the same sense of humour, love of laughter and twisted sense of world view.

Goodbye my love. You still hold a space in my heart. But for now, the door cannot be opened for a while so I can heal.

Chronic Pain, Life, Dying

I saw the article from the neurosurgeon who wrote upon reflecting what it is like to know you have a limited lifespan. He started out a fine young man, went to University, became a doctor, specialized in neurosurgery, saved countless lives and then was diagnosed with cancer and told he had six months to live.

It was a beautiful piece, knowledgeable and intelligent upon which he reflects upon his life and what he has learned. He has a baby daughter and he wonders if she will remember him.

I read that piece with intensity because I wonder how much time I have left. I do not have cancer that a doctor can say 'You have six months, a year, etc.' I have a time bomb in my head that can go at any time. I can drop dead tomorrow or in 45 years. It's a crapshoot. I truly do not know which is worse: Knowing you have six months and needing to fill in the time or take it slow, or knowing today could be your last day.

I grieve the person I lost. I grieve what I have been robbed of and I mourn what is ahead of me. Each day is special, blah, blah, blah. Life is a gift. Be happy you survived this long. Be positive. I can do that up to a point and then I drown in my own pre-ordained death sentence and fall apart, sobbing to the ground and wonder why this is the way it has to be. My husband picks me up, and tells me he loves me, and I sob until I am hoarse and wish I could disappear.

I have PTSD, actually Compound Complex PTSD between my childhood and this thing growing in my head, that sticks by me as my shadow and follows me around, constantly telling me, don't laugh too hard: Pink Mist. Don't cough. Do not stress. And all that does is increase the constant terror that has become my life.

I have become a hermit, locked inside my own diseased mind and all I can do is read and watch horror movies, the bloodier the better, so I can forget, for one hour, one day, that I am dead.

The fear is overwhelming. The anxiety is like having a too big a piece of food lodged in your throat that you cannot get rid of. And what really, truly sucks, is that some people that know me, think I should carry on and continue being the rock and the hand that rocks the cradle, and forget about it, but concentrate on their perception of life.

That has made me re-evaluate everything. I do have severe clinical depression thanks to my step-monster, along with many other invisible scars. And I bet if you sprayed Luminol on my soul, you would see each and every one of them: The childhood torture and rape of my spirit, the mental and physical illness it created, the stress, the brain aneurysm, the pain of having a family, the pain of needing a family with the realization I will never have one that I crave.

No, today is not a good day. Tomorrow, who knows.